


Onychomancy

by Kharnesh



Series: Lovelace & Bane [4]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe, Birthday, Birthday Party, Blood, Divination, First Meetings, Magic Simon Lewis, McQueen Fashion, Nails, Nephilim, Pokemon - Freeform, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Spanish, Spice Girls - Freeform, Spice Girls References, Stripped Nephilim, Symbolism, Vampires, Wannabe by Spice Girls, Warlocks, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 03:32:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10608414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kharnesh/pseuds/Kharnesh
Summary: Onychomancy - The art of divination through the use of human fingernails.An uninvited guest crashes Simon's eighth birthday party, but the gift they bring is enough for him to forgive them.





	

Camille Belcourt was not a welcome addition to Simon’s eighth birthday party.

In her defense, she hadn’t been aware that a birthday party was in progress when she decided to visit Magnus’ home. She had hoped that she would find him alone and sadly drinking a martini with a single shriveled olive. She had wanted him to look up at her, eyes filled with regret and tears ready to fall. She had wanted him to get down on his knees before her and weep when she revealed that her only reason for deigning him with her presence was so she could see how horribly her absence affected him. 

Instead, she got a face full of confetti as soon as the front door opened and Raphael standing much too close due to uncertainty. 

The interior looked nothing like Camille remembered. There were still crushed silk curtains and heavily embroidered cushions and Italian leather chaise lounges, but everything was colored orange and violet and silver instead of their usual shades. There were balloons and banners and wrapped boxes everywhere. Confetti fell from the ceiling and flew back up the moment it touched the ground. Camille felt like she had stepped into a multicolored snow globe full of faeries and werewolves. 

She ventured further in, pushing past warlocks and disgraced nephilim, until she reached the quiet of Magnus’ bedroom. She sat on his bed, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands. Raphael stood off to the side, looking just the slightest bit uncomfortable. 

“I think he might be a bit preoccupied.” 

Camille ignored him. 

There were no guests in the bedroom, but it was still decorated in a similar fashion as the foyer. A hand painted banner hung above the door proclaiming “SIMON IS GR8!” Wannabe by Spice Girls started to play and filtered in from beneath the door. Raphael’s foot tapped to the beat minutely. 

They didn’t have to wait long, as Magnus entered the room on Raphael's forty-second foot tap. Camille arched an eyebrow at his outfit. Black t-shirt, blue vest, green backpack, and jeans; it was the most mundane thing she had ever seen him wear. 

Magnus looked her in the eye, reached up, and turned his red baseball cap backwards. 

“Camille.” 

She slipped a pout onto her face. 

“Magnus,” she puckered her lips sadly, “I’m hurt that you didn’t invite me to your social gathering.” 

“And yet you’ve still found your way inside.” Magnus snapped his fingers, and a martini appeared in his hand. Camille scowled at the number of plump olives floating in it. He didn’t offer them anything. 

Camille opened her mouth to retort when she was interrupted by the bedroom door slamming open and a tiny mundane bursting in. It was covered in yellow flannel and had splotches of paint on its cheeks. 

“If you wanna be his lover, you gotta get with his friends!” It pointed at her and warbled. It jerked a thumb back at itself self-importantly. “I’m his friend.” 

Magnus took a drink of his martini and mumbled into the alcohol. “You gotta get with him.” 

Camille looked at Magnus, not paying any mind to the thing in yellow. 

“There’s a menagerie in your home, Magnus. Faeries, wolves, warlocks, and goodness, I even saw a stripped nephilim in your foyer. Yet, I haven’t seen any Night Children among your attendees.” She tried to look a little offended, not at all like she was scrambling to find something to hold over him. “There’s a mundane child underfoot, but none of my kin. One might come to draw certain conclusions, Magnus.” 

He shot her a dirty look over the rim of his glass. 

“Magnus isn’t xenophobic.” The yellow thing had stepped closer without her noticing, which was disconcerting. “He just doesn’t like you.” 

Camille looked down at it, finally taking a moment to examine the scrawny thing. Its brown hair was sticking out messily from beneath its yellow hood, and its lips were pressed together in a thin line. It had big, round glasses falling down its nose, and looking at her through the thick glass were dark eyes. Camille didn’t like those eyes. They watched her in a way that made her skin crawl. They were old eyes, and Camille wanted nothing more than to claw them out of its face with nothing but her nails and- 

“Simon,” the thing said abruptly. “My name is Simon, not ‘it.’” 

Camille hadn’t called it ‘it’ out loud, had she? 

She plastered a pitying smile on her face, hiding away any trace of uneasiness. She reached a hand out and touched Simon’s cheek. “Of course, sweet Simon.” 

Her fingernails scraped down the side of Simon’s face, and he could feel them leaving behind wet trails. Coerced and unwilling blood smeared across his skin. Screams and tears soaked into him, and they seeped further and further in until they met bone. They vibrated into his skull, rattling around in whimpers and pleas. Blood dripped from her nails in streams and splattered on the carpet. Great red and brown stains grew and grew until the floor squelched with it. Old and new, cold and hot; the blood mixed together indiscriminately. The blood soaked into his shoes, thick and cloying, and then it was between his toes, easing the slide as they wiggled uncomfortably. 

Simon stepped back, breaking contact with Camille’s nails. They were painted blue and filed to sharp points. 

“We didn’t invite Team Rocket,” he told Magnus, gesturing at Camille’s very McQueen red and white dress. 

“No, we didn’t.” Magnus opened the bedroom door. “Time to blast off, Camille.” 

Camille huffed and stepped out of the room, Magnus right behind her. Raphael made to follow when Simon’s hand touched the back of his lightly. 

“Stick around, _Dulzura_.” Simon wiggled his eyebrows alluringly. 

Raphael pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. “ _Dios_ , how old are you?” 

Simon pointed to the banner above the door. More specifically, to the number 8 in the GR8. 

His grin widened, the red paint on his cheeks cracking under the strain. 

“Ten more years and you’re mine, _chico_.” 

Raphael left quickly, more than a little horrified, and Simon watched him go. 

Camille Belcourt was not a welcome addition to Simon’s eighth birthday party, but Raphael Santiago most certainly had been.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my mother for being my beta for this piece.


End file.
